


compañero

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Español | Spanish, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mickey Milkovich In Jail, Sad Mickey, Talking, pov damon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: Damon wakes up to his cellmate having a moment and is met with hostility at first, but they soon find some common ground.





	

Damon turns on his side towards the wall, wincing at the pain he can't show on his face in the yard. Shiv just barely missed his fucking kidney, but Mickey was on it before it got far in. He didn't have to. Wasn't his fight.  _Ahora son hermanos._

He opens his eyes when he hears it. It sounds faint but that's only because he's groggy from sleep. Despite it being the dead of night, the cold, hollow cells always make everything echo. The fucking rats can't have secrets. It's gasping breaths and heavy breathing muffled by cheap cotton, but he hears it. Ain't nobody else it could be but Mickey. Dude has a second life at night or something. Doesn't let anybody see him no other way unless they're asking for it. Mickey'll fuck'em up. Or just fuck you to solitary. So he's heard.

He flips on his back and listens. Can't help it. He's up now. He listens and tries to figure out if it's good sounds or bad. Everybody makes those good sounds eventually. Nothing wrong with choking one out when there's nothing else to do. Problem comes if you looking too long and asking questions. He's heard Mickey plenty times, seen it only once. Fuck it, Mickey's seen and heard him a bunch. He keeps listening.

Mickey sighs and he would say good until he hears him sniff and swallow down more tears.

 _El ha estado llorando_.  _Sonidos malos._ Fuck, man.

"Ay," Damon says into the semi-darkness. His eyes are on the ceiling just a few feet above his face, but he imagines Mickey below him. "Ay, man, you okay?"

Nothing. No sounds now.

"Mickey?"

"Shut the fuck up." Mickey's voice is rough, no longer stifled but clear with his forced threat.

Damon sits up, holding his side where he's bandaged. "No disrespect, man, was just--"

"Just going the fuck to sleep," Mickey's voice is harsher now. A shush comes from another cell. Mickey mutters at it, but can't hide his sniffle.

Damon shakes his head. He slides down off the bunk as careful as he can, landing with bare feet on the cold floor. Mickey is facing away from him and he knows to go slow, be careful. Dude wakes up ready to kill. Damon finds himself wondering just how much a man's gotta go through to be ready for the devil at all times. He reaches out and touches his shoulder.

Mickey springs up and around, hands up and eyes wide. "The fuck are you doing?" He glares at him before roughly rubbing his eyes dry with the palms of his hands. He thumbs at his runny nose and looks everywhere but at him.

"Háblame amigo," Damon says quietly. Last thing they need is a guard.

Mickey catches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and exhales heavily, closing his eyes. He sits up more. "English, man. And I ain't your fucking friend."

Damon rubs at his head and debates just leaving the fucker to it so he can go back to sleep. But he never could sleep through the night on the inside, so what was the point?

"We're up. Might as well talk," he shrugs, itching at the tape on his bandage. It's an absent-minded move, but he sees Mickey glance at it and some resolve leaves his shoulders. "What's wrong? No more jello?"

Mickey rolls his eyes but a grin spreads across his face. "Fuck you."

Damon laughs, "Fuck you too, man." He takes that as a good enough invitation to sit down and Mickey scoots over and plants his feet on the ground next to him. "Something on the outside?"

Mickey thinks, swallows hard then nods.

"Gotchu somebody waitin'?"

"Something like that," Mickey says, rubbing at his wife-beater and staring at the floor.

"Yeah, me too," Damon smiles just thinking about it. He points to two names tattooed in big dark lettering on his stomach. Mickey's eyes follow and linger, then he quickly looks away.

"Your kids or something?" he clears his throat.

Damon grins. "Priscila been my girl since we was kids, you know? Then we had Angel. He's gonna be six in two months. We got a girl on the way." Damon couldn't hide his excitement. He loved his family. He'd do anything for them. He did. His son was already his world but now he was gonna have a daughter. _Una princesa._

"Congrats, man," Mickey says.

He probably doesn't care, but Damon can tell it means something. He gets up and pulls a picture from inside the small Bible he keeps. He smiles at it before showing it to Mickey.

"He looks like you," Mickey examines the photo. He bites his lip. "I, uh, got a kid...a boy. Got my eyes and everything," he sort of smiles.

Damon nods, "Yeah, I seen him. When they visit..." he trails off, knowing Mickey hasn't seen either of them in a month. He knows it must be hard to have something one week and then never again. Mickey didn't make a big deal of it, but that's when the bad sounds got worse.

"Yevgeny," Mickey supplies listlessly.

Damon raises his eyebrows and makes a face. ", cause you and your wife are Russian or something." He remembers hearing Mickey's real name being called before he set the record straight.

Mickey looks pained and annoyed. "Or something," he grunts. There's a reason he goes by Mickey. "Bitch ain't my wife, either," he adds, handing the photo back and squaring his shoulders.

Damon wants to laugh. His heard plenty of guys talk about their ladies like that. They get mixed up with the wrong girl and regret it, but stay cause they mama makes them or the pussy good. Whoever she is to Mickey, she's got nice tatas. But he sees that Mickey looks sad again.

"Someone else got you all twisted up, man?"

Mickey looks up at him for the first time, their eyes connecting. He thumbs at his mouth and looks away for a second like he's thinking if he wants to share. Damon knows the only thing the system doesn't strip off you when they throw you in is what's in your head. They can't get you in there, can't take nothing out unless you let them. He sees in his eyes that he wants to say, but something is stopping him. He remembers another face behind the glass. More than once. Too different to be related. Unhappy eyes reflecting Mickey's except for fleeting moments when they look younger than ever. He knows those looks. _Pelirrojo._

"Tarda una hora en conocerte y solo un dia en enamorarme. Pero me llevará toda una vida poder olvidarte."

Mickey raises that damned eyebrow of his. "How many times I gotta tell you speak English, man?"

Damon shakes his head and laughs. "No, mira, cabron," Mickey rolls his eyes. "It means when you meet that special person, that's it. Once you get a taste, ain't nothing and nobody gonna really take it no matter what, you know? They stay witchu for life, man. In here," he pointed to Mickey's head, then to his chest, "...and in here."

Mickey stayed quiet for a moment, thinking and watching. He licked his lips and thumbed at his nose. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Can't get him out," he admits in a whisper so low, Damon knows it wasn't meant for him.

Damon looks down at the picture of his little family. His fucking dog. He misses hot sand, warm water... _arroz con pollo y frijoles._

"The fuck can I do," Mickey asks.

Damon doesn't know if he has the answer Mickey needs, but he might have the one he wants. He smiles.

"Been thinking about that for a while, mi amigo."

Mickey looks at him and sees the look in his eyes.

A beat passes where they're both just listening, trying to hear any signs that what's about to be said isn't just between them.

Mickey leans closer.

"Whatchu, thinking?"

**Author's Note:**

> yes hi, well...i hope this made sense and...yeah, maybe i'll do more?
> 
> come visit me on tumblr @mhunter10


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